


Sunkissed and Golden

by Mythicalflow



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: 17 year old Link Neal, 26 year old Rhett McLaughlin, Alternate Universe, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-16 13:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythicalflow/pseuds/Mythicalflow
Summary: Link, a 33 year old professional pianist, looks back on the summer before his senior year of high school. The summer he met the man who forever changed his life.Inspired by the novel and film Call Me by Your Name.





	1. The Summer Guest

There were certain words that overwhelmed me with the memory of _him_.

Today, they were in common use amongst people much younger than myself, but when I had first heard them uttered, they were as foreign as any unknown language.

_Bail. Bum. Clutch. Drag. Dank._

I suppose it would be false to say I had never heard the words, but never in the context he used them in. They were crude, curt, and forcefully Californian. Too carefree, nothing I was used to at the time.

Just the other day, these high school kids walked by, taking up much of the sidewalk, and one said “That’s dank.” I blinked and was transported 15 years into the past, watching as he got out of the backseat of my father’s car, relaxed emerald green shirt, fine hair popping out from the top undone buttons, too tight khaki shorts, sunglasses. He was golden. I was annoyed.

My father had come around from the driver’s side, carrying a suitcase, patting him on the back, and asking, “What do ya think, Rhett?”

He had taken a moment to look around at our ostentatious house, immaculately landscaped grounds, and responded with a stupid, “It’s dank.”

***

It was custom, tradition you could say, for my parents to take in a hopeful doctoral student from the University of Georgia every summer. My father was a well-respected professor at UGA, and a sought-after mentor for philosophy students. The students would stay with us for six weeks. It was rent free, they had the run of the house and grounds, and my mother cooked daily meals with the help of my aunt. The most unfortunate part of the deal was that they stayed in my room. I was forced to box up my most used possessions and move into the adjoining room, which may as well have been a closet. There was a twin bed, small desk, and boxes stuffed with my late grandfather’s trinkets. The only plus was the view of our garden and pool, which my small balcony had overlooked.

Our summer guests ranged in age, some being fresh mid-twenty somethings, others well into their late 30s. The previous summer’s had been a 31 year old woman from Wisconsin, which was why I was particularly excited for the 26 year old man my father had chosen in the summer of 2003. I was hopeful that we would get along, find that conversations easily flowed between the two of us. I had been excited, full of nervous energy. It was the summer before my senior year of high school, I had just turned 17, had a steady girlfriend. My life was good, easy.

Things became more difficult the moment we touched.

My father had handed me Rhett’s suitcase, instructing David, our groundskeeper, to get the rest of their things from the trunk. Rhett walked up to me and shook my hand with too much force. I first noticed his unnaturally sweaty palm, then the tingle as his pointer finger caressed the inside my wrist. The feeling shot from the contact point to my stomach. That single electric shock had left me charged, thrumming for the rest of the summer...maybe even the rest of my life.

***

I had been instructed to show Rhett to my, or his, room before dinner. We made our way up the twisting staircase, passing the collection of pretentious paintings and family photos. Half way up, he started taking two stairs at a time, passing by me.

“Last room on the left.” I picked up my pace and watched as he flung the door open and entered my room. I entered the room behind him, sat his suitcase at the foot of my queen bed, and backed myself into the doorway, immediately feeling out of place.

Rhett threw himself haphazardly across my bed, landing on his stomach with a groan and then rolling over onto his back. He tugged his arms behind his head, causing a sliver of his tanned skin to peek out above his shorts. I found it difficult to look away, taking in the small details of his Calvins, the dusting of hair below where I knew his belly button must be. That hair was darker than the hair on his chest, his head. My eyes moved from that spot to his face as he spoke.

“Dude, I’m beat,” he sat up on his elbows, shirt straining against his chest, and asked, “Do you think your parents would mind if I bail tonight?”

“Bail?”

“Yeah, man. I just want to crash, it’s been a long day.”

“Sure. They should understand.” My mother would be upset.

“Clutch.”

More stupid, single-syllable words. Too lazy, unbothered to use civilized language, I remembered thinking. He was like a caveman.

I stood there a moment longer, but he gave no indication of continuing our conversation, so I left the room, closing the door behind me. As I made my way down to dinner, I felt annoyed and a confusing disappointment.

I hated him.

***

It wasn't uncommon for their to be people other than our family at dinner. My mother loved to entertain and my father loved to talk. We were regularly visited by dad’s coworkers, other professors, deans, politicians, writers, musicians, artists, and local celebrities. My parent’s backyard on a Saturday night was the place to be for the intellectuals and “must know” of Georgia. Breakfast, however, was reserved for family and the summer guest.

The summer guest, who had come casually strolling through the doorway leading to our outside breakfast table. Who took the seat next to mine, despite there being other places to occupy. That single, likely unthinking decision he made had my mind musing for the rest of the day. Why that seat?

I watched as he voraciously piled his plate with the food spread across the table. He was wearing short, tight coral swim trunks with a short sleeved button up which was wide open, exposing his naked chest and stomach. As he reached across me to grab the biscuits, I noticed a golden necklace with a small cross hanging from his neck. While my parents were open-minded intellectuals, we were still in the south. Religion, Christianity was a part of me, and apparently is was also a part of Rhett. That, for some reason, made me feel closer to him, despite our assumed differences. We had that at least.

“Link.” My father’s voice brought me out of my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Son, why don't you take Rhett to that swimming hole out in the woods?" my father gave a half smile, then looked toward Rhett, "Help him relax before we began our 'scholarly endeavors' tomorrow."

"Man, I would love that, Dr. Neal." Rhett said through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, sir." I said, looking at Rhett with a forced smile. His eyes were already on my face as my own met his. They were large, framed by strong brows, and so intense I had to look away.


	2. The Swimming Hole and the Invitation

After breakfast, I changed into my bathing suit and a loose t-shirt, grabbing my sunglasses and shoving a book into my back pocket. I met Rhett at the edge of the woods behind my house, and without a word began the trek to the swimming hole. We walked in silence, but I was hyper aware of Rhett's presence behind me. It was like we were two magnets, begging to be pushed together, which was all the more why I had to keep my distance. I remember him speaking first. 

"Do you always call your dad 'sir'?" 

I threw him a glance, but continued forward, "Not always."

"Do you say more than two words at a time?"

"Do you only ask annoying questions?"

Rhett laughed, "The answer is yes, then."

The truth was, I wanted to say more, to tell him my life story, my dreams, my desires, but I didn’t know how to. So, I just asked questions back. 

"Why do you say such stupid words?" I stopped and turned to look at him. He seemed shocked by our sudden pause in movement. 

"Stupid words?" 

"Yeah. Dank? Clutch? Who talks like that?"

"Oh, I would guess young, cool males, probably in their twenties, from California." He removed his shirt as he spoke, tucking as much as he could manage into the back pocket of his swim trunks. Why would he do that? 

"We still have a little ways." I said, immediately turning around to hide the blush consuming my face. I wanted to ask more of him. Why Georgia? Why Philosophy? Why was he so annoying? So frustrating? Why did he have to consume my thoughts the night before? Why did he make me want to kneel before him, follow his every command? Why did he make me want to look away when he held my gaze? Those answers would come later. 

***

I remember when we reached our destination, Rhett made his way to the edge of the water, kicking off his shoes, pulling his shirt out of his back pocket. He did not hesitate as he walked into the water and submerged himself, coming up with a fling of the head, pushing his soaked hair from his face, the water dripping down his full beard. I watched, removing my own shirt and shoes, as the water ventured down Rhett’s long torso, finding a home at the edge of his swim trunks. I was overwhelmed by the image of him. With his entire being. He was an enigma, and I was struggling to understand my feelings, feelings that I barely felt for the girls before him. Another boy, let alone another man, had never awaken the confusing hunger inside me that I felt from that day onward, watching him swim laps around the swimming hole, the image of masculinity, all hard edges and muscle. He was like a Bernini sculpture come to life. 

I sat on a small rock by the edge and pulled out the book in my back pocket. I pretended to read, letting the sun glasses perched on my face act as a front so I could continue to sneak glances at Rhett as he swam lazily in the cool water. Sitting there, I would not yet know that the very swimming hole Rhett was claiming as his own would later become our sacred ground. In weeks to come, we would take the journey at odd hours of the day, sometimes even at night if the moon was bright enough to guide us. As our relationship progressed, we did much more than swimming, but on that day, that's all we did: swim and talk. 

“How well do you know UGA’s campus? The downtown area?” Rhett asked, floating on his back. 

“Pretty good.” I moved around him, circling him. I let my hands graze the surface of the water.

“Good enough to take me on a tour?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Tomorrow?”

“I have to work with your father until noon, but I am free after that.”

“Well, Mr. McLaughlin, meet your official tour guide of UGA: Mr. Neal,” I reached out to shake his hand in mock formality. 

Rhett stood straight, tall and shook back, pulling me closer to him, leaning down, and whispering, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Neal.” 

I laughed, splashing water in his face, once again seeking distance. 

Rhett fell back into the water with a big grin. He rested on his knees, the water moving gently around his shoulders and said, “So, Mr. Neal, what do you do around here?”

“This,” I said, waving a hand at our surroundings, “read books, transcribe music, go out at night, I don’t know.” I was painfully aware of how boring my life must have seemed to him.

“Sounds fun.” He pushed himself back through the water, floating away, as I stood there wishing I had said something more clever. 

***

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the water or sunbathing on the large rocks that framed the east end of the swimming hole. It was Rhett who suggested we make our way back to the house before dinner. He didn’t want to miss out on my mother’s cooking like the night before. Our walk back was, again, full of silence, but I no longer led in front of Rhett. Instead, we walked side by side, our shoulders occasionally bumping.

As we broke through the tree line, I caught a glimpse of Mariah bounding down the slope of the backyard. She was my first serious girlfriend, beautiful and full of life. She was a catalyst for my attempt at extroversion in the months leading to that unforgettable summer. She brought me out of my shell. For that, I will always be grateful for her, regardless of the outcome of our relationship. 

As we came closer to each other, she threw her arms around my neck, kissing me on the mouth. With Rhett next to me, it seemed wrong, rude somehow. 

“Linkipoo, I’ve missed you,” she looked at Rhett, who was standing a good foot taller than her and said, “Who's your friend?” 

“Mariah, this is Rhett, our guest this summer. Rhett, Mariah.” I gestured awkwardly between the two. 

To Rhett’s surprise, Mariah flung her arms around him as well, barely reaching, and placed a kiss on each of his cheeks. 

“Oh, well hello.” Rhett smirked. 

“Welcome to Georgia, Rhett.” She moved away and wrapped herself around me. “There’s a party at Jess' condo next Saturday, and I was told there would be drinking, smoking, dancing, and college students. All of my favorites. You should come, bring Rhett.” She rested her head on my shoulder and smiled prettily at Rhett. 

Rhett smiled back, just as prettily. “Ah, I don’t know if you want an old man imposing on the celebrations of the youth.” 

I guffawed. “You’re hardly an old man. Not much older than us, you know.” 

Rhett’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that. “Hmm, well, I’ll think about it. See how our tour goes tomorrow.” He grabbed Mariah’s’ hand and placed a kiss there. “It was nice to meet you, Mariah. I will consider the invitation.” His eyes left her and found mine as his lips parted from her hand. He walked backwards towards the house, hands in his pockets, smiling, then turned and jogged away. My stomach fluttered. 

“He seems nice.” Mariah said as she pulled me towards the house. 

“Yeah.” He seemed much more than nice I had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following dialogue (minus my tags, minor changes, and action) was taken from the movie.
> 
> “So, Mr. Neal, what do you do around here?”
> 
> “This, read books, transcribe music, go out at night, I don’t know.” I responded, painfully aware of how boring my life must have seemed to him.
> 
> “Sounds fun.” 
> 
> Also, these chapters will probably continue to be relatively short. I am very busy with work, but would like to update weekly. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the novel and film Call Me by Your Name. Some of the plot points are taken straight from the novel and film, but I largely tried to keep it my own. This was also an exercise in broadening my writing style. I tried to imitate Andre Aciman’s style in some places. It’s a great novel, you should check it out if you get the chance!


End file.
